Don’t You Give Up

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  • nikitabinigoswami 4w


    Fragments of broken bonds,
    Keep regrowing from roots in past,
    The blooms smell of remorse,
    While leaves are adorned with guilt,
    Their seeds get nourished with our tears,
    But we keep trimming em’ with the axe of our fears.

  • nikitabinigoswami 4w

    Tonight is another one,
    When I will be sitting alone,
    On the terrace of my home,
    Right when the clock strikes 12.
    I will carry that same knife,
    Stained with blood of regrets,
    I’ve kept the rope ready,
    Adorned with the guilt of dreams.
    I have anticipated this night,
    Like I’ve kept procrastinating hopes,
    From growing wild in my garden;
    Otherwise filled with coffins of smiles.
    Lonliness;my forever constant,
    Seems to bid me a goodbye,
    As the Universe is sending death,
    Disguised as a beautiful life ahead

  • nikitabinigoswami 6w


    Remember my dear friend,
    Every new start will have an end,
    Just like all the tears you bleed today,
    Have roots in the smiles of yesterday.

    Happy memories you give and receive,
    Can’t be evaded even when bonds cleave,
    They remain with us like crystals of sands,
    The more you grip on them,they slip away from your hands.

    Like the melody of a soulful song,
    Makin’ us smile when things go wrong,
    Resembling shed leaves of October,
    For autumn is like winter and summer together.

    You can’t turn rock-cold to emotions,
    For the human heart is feeble to precautions,
    The more you run away,they chase you,
    You gota face both shades of the blue.

  • nikitabinigoswami 39w

    If you dig the graveyards,
    Searching about for me,
    You will just find,
    Dead hopes and dooming curses,
    Chanted from burnt lips,
    And decaying carcasses,
    Of the ones who left me,
    Thinking I was not fit to be a home,
    Because it took me,
    Little longer to accommodate,
    And let them in through my walls.
    My shelter is empty now,
    Four rooms with shattered walls somehow,
    Stand with scratches and scribbles,
    Of good wishes and evil spells,
    Of a place called the haunted house,
    Where lives a ghost called 'Happy Alone'


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    The haunted house

  • nikitabinigoswami 40w

    What do I write about you?
    How can I define your blues?
    I can't use my pen like you use,
    Voids and spaces shyly infuse,
    When you are the topic I choose.

  • nikitabinigoswami 41w

    I was out for my usual evening walk today. I crossed your home, like I do daily. I did steal glances of its window sills and entrance door. I did that with the usual hopeless hope of seeing you at least once and as usual I didn't.
    I strolled across the same PWD colonies and came across that huge "Gulmohar" tree.
    Do you remember that tree?
    The tree which witnessed our love.
    The tree that hid us from the rest of the world and gave us the perfect feel of our first date.

    Today it looked down at me, asking me the same questions you asked.
    It looked at me with the same hatred you now see me with, after I answered the questions.
    I felt guilty, and it did not console me, just like you left me crying. It let me cry for I had done a big mistake.
    I cried for long there today. Standing alone under it's shade.
    The fallen flowers stared at me. I stared back at them and they looked away. Just the way you do.
    Lastly the Gulmohar, swayed it's branches as if it was asking me to leave, just like you did.
    So I left and did not turn back to say a Goodbye, just like you did.

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    The Gulmohar tree

  • nikitabinigoswami 41w


    You made made me believe,
    In miracles and prayers,
    In love at first sight,
    In goodness of life.

    You make me feel,
    That I am adorable,
    That I am loveable,
    That I am admireable.

    You take me on cloud nine,
    Your love makes me drunk like wine,
    You're the sun, that makes me shine,
    You make my life go fine.

    You are someone I can't let go,
    You make my heart swing to and fro,
    You lift me up from key-notes low,
    You are a story I want to read slow.

  • nikitabinigoswami 42w


    Every night I envy her,
    For the way she still holds,
    An important place in both,
    Your heart and life.
    For the way you look at her,
    And caress her hairs,
    Fingertip on her lips,
    And kiss her forehead,
    For you were friends,
    And you weren't allowed,
    To smell and taste her,
    The way you did me.
    I was devotedly yours,
    So I served myself to you,
    In silver platters to feed,
    The fantasies, lust and hunger,
    Of your desires about her,
    Although I always knew,
    I could never satisfy you,
    The way just the thought of her,
    Always left you replenished.

  • nikitabinigoswami 45w

    I am searching for the most delicate string of pain to wind my heart with it so the broken pieces compile into the shape of a heart that can at least harbour the memories I never wanted to foster and let go.

    I am looking for the most pain-striken note of my guitar that sets the memories of you sunk at the back of my head to fire so that I can again feel the warmth and care of your love when you first held my hand and confessed.

    I am digging down the graveyard of dead hopes and buried dreams in the hope of finding a deadly source of pain that possesses my soul once again and makes me feel a little less than alive and little more than dead.

    I am mixing in all the shades of my colour plate in the excitement of finding my favorite shades of grey. All colours lose their glamor when white makes love with black and darkness combines with light in the most passionate fire of desire. I want to repaint my canvas with the perfect shade of it that resonates the most with my world because grey is always calm, beautiful and pain loving.

    I tried to move on from you and in the process I fostered my feelings, not only those that remained back after you left but also somehow deliberately I let go of the ability to feel love and pain.

    Love is the most cunning oxymoron that I could never explain, understand, give or receive and write about perfectly but pain has been the most familiar thing that I have ever felt.

    I never thought I would survive without you by my side so I held onto your fingertips as long as I could feel them.
    Little did I know that it wasn't you or the happy side of us but the darkest of days and sadness of the melancholic songs you sang that made me love and desire you like the sun desires the moon.
    I never knew pain held such an important place in my life that if I ever abandoned it I would turn myself into a refugee and homeless.

    I never realised pain was the perfect home to my carcass of skin and bones.

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    Pain feels like the perfect home

  • nikitabinigoswami 46w

    Five Springs ago you came and coloured me Red,
    There were other colours but you chose the deepest shade;
    Of Red;bright for it shows love and joy but also shame, danger and hatred.
    Days went by, your colour of love on me became darker and sacred.
    You tied threads of responsibility to my hands, me being bolder,
    But left them open ended when it came to your shoulders.
    Eventually it became hard to move on a cart with one wheel,
    Emotions lessened between us, even to feel.
    We took each other for granted,
    Competing with our ego, we ranted.
    Love comes easy, but not the bonds;
    They die with pro-longed desponds.
    You left silently, now its hard to recover,
    All I am left behind is your Red colour.


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    Red Colour